by Robin Jarvis
The body of the woman she had just murdered had slumped from the table. The cauldron was lying on its side, dripping gobbets of blood-streaked porridge down on to her upturned face.
In spite of the preposterous medieval costume and the tangled mess of the corpse’s hair, Queenie recognised her. Taking a hesitant step closer, she gazed at the dead woman in disbelief and sank to her knees next to her.
“M… Manda?” she uttered hoarsely. “Oh my God! Manda!”
Reaching out, she took hold of her old friend’s hand and pressed her lips into the palm.
“Who did this?” she wept, tenderly wiping porridge from the dead face with the hem of her own gown. “What swine did this to my Manda? Call the police, Jezza. They’ve got to get the animal who did this. Hurry!”
“But you did it,” the Ismus told her brightly. “You bludgeoned her, walloped her good and proper. Then you drowned her – and relished every brutal moment.”
Shaking, Queenie lowered the plump hand. Tears were streaking down her ashen face. The man’s words pounded in her head. Abruptly, and with an agonising spasm, the memories came swarming back and she knew what she had done.
Screaming at the top of her voice, Queenie recoiled. Doubled over, clutching her stomach, she fled through the assembled courtiers, her anguished, desolate cries never stopping.
The Ismus watched her lurch away and listened with satisfaction to the music of her despair. He turned to the Harlequin Priest that Queenie had known as Miller, before the power of Dancing Jax had mastered him.
“Consult the reserve list,” he instructed, gazing down at the dead figure on the carpet. “We require a new prime Queen of Hearts. Attend to that as soon as possible. I would have the four Royal Houses represented fully at the great revel on Christmas Eve. The viewing public will expect nothing less. We must give our audience what it wants. Everything must be perfect for the global download.”
The priest bowed and pointed to a green patch on his robes to signify his agreement.
Queenie staggered on blindly. She didn’t know where she was – or where she was going. She just had to escape this nightmare if she could. The sinister crowd back there: Jezza, Tommo and Miller and Manda’s body – she couldn’t get them out of her head. It couldn’t be real. It was impossible. But her own scalding guilt told her otherwise. Hot tears of grief and horror blurred her sight and she blundered into walls and against doors. Then she tripped and hit her chin on a metal step. A biting draught of winter air was blasting from above and she picked herself up to scramble higher and meet it.
Soon a cold gale was tearing at the voluminous gown and the absurd ringlets were thrashing behind her ears. Queenie drew a sleeve across her eyes and gazed out at the endless sky.
The exit to the EdgeWalk was before her. The 360 restaurant, and the torments it contained, were now directly below. Queenie’s screams had ceased. She felt utterly annihilated. She was a vessel that had been totally drained and she knew she would never find any peace or solace again. She would never be able to live with what she had seen and what she had done since the book had taken her over. It was more than any conscience could endure.
As she stared out at the vast panorama, high above Toronto, searching the bleak December sky for answers or the hope of absolution, her lips moved hesitantly.
“Is there anything out there?” her cracked voice rasped in hollow desperation. “Is there? Anything? Anyone? Up there?”
She hadn’t prayed or thought about such things since she was a little girl. Now, in her darkest moment, she fumbled for words and begged for help – for strength.
The bitter wind that howled about the lofty tower was the only response.
“No one to forgive me?” she whispered, shambling forward. “Nothing.”
The crushed woman passed through the exit and stepped mechanically out on to the narrow platform on top of the tower’s main pod, 356 metres above the ground. There was no safety rail, no barrier, just a perilous drop. Alone, high up on that concrete needle that dominated the cityscape, she was a tiny, forsaken speck.
With the taffeta lashing fiercely around her, like the sputtering of a great black flame, she approached the brink.
“No one,” she mouthed in meek acceptance and the high winds ripped her devastated voice away.
In the restaurant beneath, the Ismus had retrieved his laptop from behind the bar and was just closing the precious document when Queenie plummeted silently past the windows.
“Naughty girls who open their Christmas presents too early,” the Ismus told himself with a gratified smirk, “spoil the surprise and have only themselves to blame.”
The startling sight went without comment by those who had witnessed it. The everyday trivialities and intrigues of the Court of Dancing Jax were more engaging topics. Even the Jill of Spades had her thoughts on other matters and the Jill of Hearts was gazing longingly at the Jack of Clubs once more. In the arms of the Lady Labella, the infant began to cry.
Turning to the Harlequin Priest, the Ismus said. “Choose a new Queen of Spades from the reserves also. Now get my jet ready. We’ve got to get back to England. There’s so much to do, so much to prepare for the big night. I want to leave in an hour. I’ve got a Korean takeaway waiting for me back home – I don’t want it to spoil.”
15
SPENCER WAS DRIFTING in and out of an uncomfortable sleep. His head, half buried in his Stetson, vibrated against the car window. His nerves were a strung-out mess. It had been an absolutely exhausting few days, and he tried to snatch back the rags of slumber and smother himself in them before they evaporated completely.
When the munitions store in the mountain had erupted, they had barely made it out with their lives. It was only the collapse of the tunnel roof behind that saved them from being caught in the pursuing inferno, but the dangers were far from over.
As Eun-mi raced the jeep through the shuddering darkness, a jagged crack ripped the underground road apart beneath them. For several desperate minutes they’d driven along an ever-widening chasm, until one side lifted sharply. The girl wrenched at the steering wheel. There was a scream and a scrape of metal on the lifting ledge of rock. Then the jeep vaulted across the yawning ravine and screeched on to the lower level, roaring down the quaking tunnel ahead. Grit and stones poured on top of them and great chunks of the mountain slammed or slid on to the road behind. When the wall split open, right in front, and a vast boulder came grinding into view, Eun-mi pressed her foot down and skidded round it. The massive stone caught the back of the jeep and Spencer nearly fell out as the glancing blow crumpled the rear corner like foil.
He wasn’t sure how they survived that. The rest of the journey beneath the exploding mountain base was a hideous blur of feverish terror, and the fear of violent, crushing death was a constant passenger. When they finally emerged, crashing through the bushes and undergrowth on the Chinese side of the Baekdudaegan Mountains, he discovered that the fingers of his right hand had dug deep into the seat, puncturing the leather, and had twisted the steel springs beneath. Khaki paint was impacted under the nails of his left, where he had clawed the vehicle’s side, clean down to the metal.
He had never expected to breathe in the open air again and he praised the North Korean girl for getting them out of that collapsing tomb alive. Eun-mi made no response. The hazards were not done with. The ground was still juddering and shifting under them and wildfires were blazing far and wide.
When Spencer glanced behind them, the mountain was belching flame, and oily smoke poured from every fissure. Looking at Gerald, he was shocked to see how aged and frail the old man appeared. But there was no opportunity to shout to him to see if he was OK; the jeep was bouncing over rugged terrain and Spencer was clinging to the seat for dear life again.
Through thickets of flame and swerving round the debris of the ruptured mountain, they passed into the night and the rumbling booms eventually receded in the distance. Soon they were wrapping blankets round themselves as pro
tection from the biting Chinese winter. The cutting wind that numbed their faces saved their lives, for it battered back the clouds of chlorine, sarin and phosgene that spewed from the stockpiled chemical weapons, blowing the lethal gases back into North Korea.
And so the long journey to Dandong began.
Eun-mi drove for six hours without a break before her head began to nod at the wheel and Gerald demanded she stop. Once he had made certain she ate something, the old man took over and she slept fitfully. After that, they rotated every four hours. Spencer could only sit in the back, watching the frost-ringed stars overhead.
The mountain track was deserted and the surrounding country was desolate and shrouded in darkness. At some point he dozed. When he awoke, the world was cold and grey. The ridged landscape seemed to go on forever. Stony hills and gullies, dotted with bare trees, surrounded them. There was no sign of another living creature. It was some time before they left the winding way out of those blank and empty hills. In the afternoon, they saw the first remote building in the distance, then ploughed fields began to break up the wilderness. Gradually the rough track that their beaten-up jeep rattled along evolved into a road and, for many kilometres, ran parallel with a raised pipeline. Then a march of electric pylons could be seen and the hum of the wires gave a new soundtrack to their journey.
Spencer must have fallen asleep again for he jolted awake when Gerald braked.
The boy blinked and rubbed his eyes. They were still in the middle of nowhere and he thought they’d halted for another toilet stop when he realised Gerald and Eun-mi were staring across the scrubland at one of the pylons. At the top of that latticed tower, where the power lines ran through the triangular arms, were clusters of dark, glistening eggs, each one over a metre in diameter and round, like massive black pearls. Suspended beneath them, trussed in sticky strands, was the carcass of a cow, its four legs dangling in mid-air. It was to be the first meal of whatever was going to hatch from the eggs and the first reminder that the world was now full of unnatural horrors.
Gerald drove on in thoughtful silence. Eun-mi began to keep an even more watchful eye on the road and held one of the rifles in readiness. Spencer didn’t like to try and guess what had laid those eggs and where it might be now, or just how many of them there were.
Day passed into night. Eun-mi was at the wheel again when the first noises were heard overhead. Up there, in the dark, large creatures were croaking and screeching. Spencer could hear the leathery slap of wings in flight and he cowered in his seat. Suddenly they all felt a rush of fetid air as something came swooping down. Gerald raised the AK-47 and fired blindly into the night.
For the briefest, stuttering instants, Spencer saw a hideous horned head, with eyes like headlamps, illuminated by the automatic rifle fire. Jaws packed with razor teeth were wide open, ready to rend and tear, and the span of the bat-like wings was twice the length of the jeep.
There was a horrendous shriek and the stench lifted. They heard the creature veer off, screaming in pain. Then, up there in the teeming darkness, the rest of an unseen host attacked it. There was a clamouring din of violent death and Eun-mi drove as fast as she could.
Nothing else came near them that night, but they continued to hear harrowing cries in the distance, on every side.
Only when the dawn approached did the fearful noises cease.
The barren countryside was behind them. Farms and villages became more numerous and the River Yalu could be glimpsed far off to the left. Rustic dwellings gave way to drab concrete buildings and, before midday, they were in the prosperous city of Dandong.
The streets were quiet. They saw no traffic and they drove through the hushed cityscape wondering what had happened – even Jaxers went about their normal business when they weren’t lost in the book. Following the road signs, Eun-mi headed for the airport. This was on the other side of the city and it wasn’t long before they understood. The approaches were clogged with vehicles and people tramping on foot, wheeling barrows of belongings. Most of them were dressed as their characters in Dancing Jax, rocking backwards and forwards as they shuffled along, with their heads bent over those evil pages.
It was an exodus and looked as if the entire population was headed there, but these were the stragglers. The rest had gone to the train station or travelled by bus to Beijing because the airport here was so small, with only a few scheduled flights per day.
There was no way the jeep could get through the snarled gridlock; the vehicles weren’t moving. Eun-mi decided they would have to walk the rest of the way and Gerald agreed. The girl passed rifles to him and Spencer, and took up the satchel of grenades and a blanket roll.
“Don’t be absurd!” Gerald protested. “Even if we get anywhere near the airport, they’re never going to let us in with these. Just leave them.”
Eun-mi wouldn’t listen and Gerald and Spencer exchanged weary glances. She was maddeningly headstrong and seemed determined to get them arrested or worse.
Spencer eyed the pushing and shoving of the mob and couldn’t see the point. It was impossible and impassable.
“Might as well give up now,” he groaned. “Isn’t there another way? Somewhere else to try?”
“No other way!” Eun-mi snapped. “This only chance. You follow.”
“Then remember,” Gerald warned, “we’re supposed to be part of this. Don’t say or do anything that will give us away as different. If someone praises that book, you bloody well join in – and make it convincing.”
The girl made no answer and started barging into the crowd. Angry shouts ensued, but, as soon as the Chinese saw the playing card pinned to her uniform, the indignation vanished and they chattered excitedly. The Jill of Spades was here, and behind her were the Jack of Clubs and the King of Diamonds! They cheered and applauded, bowing down before the royal latecomers.
The news rippled swiftly up through the jostling river of cars and people. To Eun-mi’s surprise, the inhabitants of Dandong squeezed together more tightly than ever and cleared a route through the centre to let them pass.
The girl turned back to Gerald and Spencer.
“Hurry,” she ordered.
Spencer pulled the Stetson down over his eyes.
Just over an hour later, they found themselves in the main airport building. The place was heaving, but there was no sign of any security. The noise and the jostling of thousands of people clamouring to get a seat on the next plane out was unbearable. There were so many jammed inside that, even with the deference shown them due to their pretend royal status, they found it difficult to make their way through.
“What on earth is going on?” Gerald shouted above the din.
Eun-mi glanced up and saw the answer on every large display screen.
“Yes, it’s only two more days till the eve of Christmas and the publication of Fighting Pax!” chirped a bright, friendly voice, over images of snow and artificial trees festooned with lights, with tinkling music in the background.
“If any of you are still undecided, what in Mooncaster is wrong with you? Are you aberrants? It’s your last chance to come on over and join us for the biggest celebration this grey dreamscape has ever known. Don’t sit back and watch it on TV – come to England and watch it for real! Get the full experience. See the replica of the White Castle! See the Court of the Holy Enchanter. Browse the wares in the marketplace. Dance to the music of the minstrels. Eat in the reconstructed tavern of The Silver Penny and thrill to the biggest night of your lives. So what are you waiting for? Jump on a plane and fly over. Everyone is welcome. Have the trip of a lifetime. This is a must-not-miss opportunity. One final revel to end all revels before the grand publication of Fighting Pax.”
The picture changed to footage from airports around the world where panicking hordes were clambering over security barriers, scaling baggage conveyors to get into the holds of aircraft and charging on to runways. It was grotesque and insane.
“Airports everywhere are crammed to capacity and every plane is sta
nding room only – budge up there, Granddad! Watch out for those overhead lockers – that’s where they put the baby! Don’t let long queues put you off; get here any way you can: by ship, rail – remember it’s all totally free, courtesy of our Holy Enchanter, the Ismus. Why just sit there? Come to England by any means possible, even hang-glider or hot-air balloon. What’s this? That’s right, girls, keep pedalling – we’ll see you in Kent!”
The final pictures had been of two elderly ladies in a lemon-sherbet-coloured pedalo, three miles out from Miami Beach, grinning and waving, with copies of Dancing Jax in their aged hands as they cheerfully headed further out into the Atlantic.
Then bright, chunky letters filled the screen and the voice announced, “Just two more days left, just two – until…”
The letters flashed a festive green and red.
And the whole thing looped back to the beginning.
“We’ve got less time than I thought,” Gerald said. “Whatever Austerly Fellows has planned, he’s going to do it on Christmas Eve.”
“Have we got time to get there?” Spencer asked. “Can we even get there?”
Gerald gazed around at the sea of impatient, agitated Jaxers that filled the terminal building. “We’re going to damn well try!” he said.
“This way!” Eun-mi urged, as she forged ahead to the departure gate. “You too old, too slow!”
“That’s hardly breaking news, dear. I’m fully aware of both headlines – have been for some time.”
It was only because they were the last remaining Mooncaster royalty in Dandong that they managed to get on board the next plane out. To Gerald’s amazement, not one person questioned or challenged them about the weapons they carried so openly. There were no security checks, no passport control, nothing. The world had nudged a little closer to a final madness.
Once on board, they discovered that the video hadn’t exaggerated: it really was standing room only, like the London Underground during rush hour. All weight and safety regulations were cheerfully disregarded with people wedged into every space and filling the aisle. They were all high number cards, tens or nines, being knights or ladies-in-waiting, and, when they realised there was royalty among them, those with seats were quick to offer their places.